Her One Night Fiancé (Love in London 3)

She didn’t want the reminder. And she certainly didn’t want the cold hard cash that it represented.

Twelve

Eduardo was called to the unit’s reception area an hour and a half after he’d walked in from the park. An hour and a half of hating himself. He was a coward. And she was right—he’d chosen to be.

“You have to sign for it,” the nurse at reception said apologetically. “The courier won’t accept anyone else’s signature.” She jerked her head toward the impatient-looking Lycra-clad man.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Eduardo said to him.

The parcel was small and he already knew what it was. The second he got back inside his office, he tore open the small bag. With fumbling fingers he tried to unfold the tissue. Its contents fell to the floor. The diamond sparkled.

Of course she wouldn’t keep it. And she’d never have sold it—she had too much integrity and pride for that. He wouldn’t have wanted her to, either. He didn’t know why he’d thought he could get away with giving it to her. But he’d wanted to give her something—but for what? Because what she’d done for him meant something? Because the time they’d shared was precious to him?

He picked it up. The sparkle mocked him. It wasn’t anyone else’s ring. He couldn’t give it to another or take it back to the jeweler. It was theirs. His gift to her. It didn’t belong on anyone else’s finger. It shouldn’t matter so much. But it did.

She’d been with that guy three years. Not with anyone else. So her plan was good—she should go to the Continent and have some fun. Live a little—a fling here and there, excitement, passion, life.

Jealous anger surged through his body, faster than his pounding pulse could cope. He didn’t want her having flings with anyone other than him. But they were heading in different directions. And her heart was still bruised by that bastard.

The return of this gift bit. He’d stuffed it up. He’d wanted her to know what an amazing, sexy woman she was. To believe in herself—in how much she should be loved. In how much he could love her.

Hell.

A cold sweat washed over him as the emotion crystallized. He could love her. As he looked around his office, he knew he would do things differently with Nina. He’d take leave, he’d find the time for her. Because she was so worth it. She was worth everything. Now, faced with the reality of never seeing her again, his entire body revolted.

He was such an idiot.

Can you really walk away from something so precious?

The ring? Yes.

Nina herself? No.

He’d known she couldn’t walk from the ring—she was too responsible to throw something of value away. But could she walk from him?

She already had. This was her final communication. She’d been hurt before and he knew she didn’t want to offer the first kiss again. He’d sidestepped her slight, shy opening this afternoon and in doing so he’d hurt her.

Why had he done that?

Because she was leaving soon and she was vulnerable. But she hadn’t believed him when he’d said he couldn’t do intimacy. It was the closest he’d come to admitting fear. And she hadn’t believed him. She’d turned it on herself—that she was the one lacking. He couldn’t let her believe that. He was the one lacking—in courage. He’d not been entirely honest with her, not opened up fully the way she had to him.

But he was afraid she’d tire of him the way his last girlfriend had. That his long hours would wear her down. That she’d lose trust in him. That he wouldn’t give her enough emotionally, so she’d seek what she needed elsewhere…

He couldn’t bear that thought. Because he’d been cheated on, too. His girlfriend had been the one to throw all the accusations—but she’d been the one who cheated in the end. He knew how much it hurt. He knew how long it took to get over the betrayal.

He didn’t think he could be enough for Nina—for anyone. It had been nothing to show his physical desire, but his heart’s desire?

It was too easy to use work as his excuse not to get close.

But his own fears were no excuse for hurting her. For letting her think she was lacking something. She deserved more than that. She deserved the truth. And he’d do whatever was necessary to get her to believe it.

Thirteen

It hadn’t taken long to pack. She’d traveled over light from Canada and in the few months she’d been in London she hadn’t accrued much that she couldn’t easily replace. What she didn’t want to take with her she left for her masses of flatmates to share amongst themselves—aside from the diamond, of course. The courier company had called to confirm it had been delivered directly into his hands.

She s

at on the train, her pack between her feet, trying to summon some excitement about Paris. City of Lovers? Maybe she’d skip it and go straight to Cannes and go see a depressing art house movie.

She still couldn’t believe he’d walked away without saying good-bye. She was so busy thinking, she didn’t bother following the progress of the Tube on the map above the windows—Heathrow was the last stop on the line, she wouldn’t miss it. And she wasn’t missing the flight, either.

It was crazy to think she’d originally booked the trip to escape those former friends coming over. Now they no longer mattered a jot. She could stay and enjoy the London-in-summer scene.

But she had something even bigger to escape now.

The train paused at each station and then started its run again with usual regularity. People sat silently, apart from a group of Greek tourists across from her. She hoped they weren’t about to break into a song-and-dance routine. She didn’t think she was up for it today.

But it wasn’t a live choir that suddenly interrupted the quiet airspace. Instead, some inconsiderate teen turned his headphones up too loud.

Hell, now he’d started singing. And it was old school—the Beatles, of all things. She looked up and gasped.

It wasn’t a teen. It was Eduardo—singing and dancing in her aisle with his iPhone poking out from his pocket to provide the backup track.

“I wanna hold your haaaaand,” he mangled.

“What are you..?” Her screech soon petered out, so stunned was she at the moves he was pulling. Oh my, the guy could dance—like really, really dance.

“I’m my own flashmob.” He body-popped to the beat. “Now let me hold your haaand,” he sang.

Nina clapped a hand over her mouth, but that didn’t stop her giggles exploding like all the Champagne bubbles in the world as he continued with his moves. Who knew this highly cerebral medic could moon walk?